The Other Broadway
by musical jay
Summary: In this life, there were no knights in shining armour - merely neon lights, heavy makeup, and the barely-there uniform of industrial lingerie. AU/future fic.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fic, and very much unbeta'd. Originally posted at LJ, I thought I'd finally bring it over here. The prompt that instigated this fic was, "Rachel's Broadway dreams don't go her way. Instead, she becomes a stripper, and Puck becomes one of her customers."

As a warning, this first chapter is pretty… um, crude and smutty. Apologies if I've offended anyone, but you've been duly warned. For the rest of you, enjoy.

---

The place was a dive, marked by the sour scent of unwashed bodies, stale cigarette smoke, and paunchy bartenders. He scowled as he walked through the broken beaded curtain, following his chattering friend to an unoccupied corner of the neon-illuminated stage. His feet made sticky sounds on the floor before he flopped into a plastic deck chair that had seen better days.

"Why the hell are we here again," he said, not even bothering to put the questioning inflection in his voice.

Lenny grinned. "Pussy," he said, looking around in awe at the half-naked waitresses. "What's the matter, Puckerman? Girls aren't your thing?"

Puck scowled again, leaning back in his rickety chair. "Not the place I'd go to get laid," he grumbled.

"Trust me, the girls are hot here, and everything's real. None of that silicone shit," his friend said, gazing appreciatively at the jiggling figure on stage. All Puck could do was snort. The tall blonde in front of him was naturally endowed, sure, but her eyes were hardened and her movements were jittery and reluctant.

"Chick looks like she's strung out on a five-dollar bag of snow," he commented boredly, running a hand through his cropped hair. The mohawk was gone, but he'd kept the habit of ruffling the bristles as if it was still there.

Lenny rolled his eyes. "Just wait and see," he said, snagging a waitress for two beers. "Hey, listen – you don't like the show, I promise you, I'll pay you back for the cover, and we'll call it a night. Okay?"

Puck doubted that Lenny would pay him back – after all, the man had a padlock on his wallet and a tightwad wife to boot – but he figured, why the hell not. _ I'm giving this an hour, then I'm outta this shithole dump._

"Thank you, Bambi! Boys, our next dancer is up! Let's have a round of applause for Cherry!" the emcee boomed, his voice framed by the crackle of the speaker system.

He turned his head as the waitress returned with their beers. He passed one back to Lenny. "Seven dollars," the waitress said, eyeing him appreciatively. He passed her a ten, and winked as he told her to keep the change – he wasn't even remotely interested, but flirting was like breathing to him – and turned around to the stage as the lights dimmed to a pale blue.

A deep, throbbing beat pulsed through the room as the music started, and he leaned back, chugging his beer. Idly he checked his watch – eleven-forty.

Onstage, the worn red velvet curtains were suddenly thrown back, and a petite brunette stalked onstage, her hands resting proudly on her hips. Lenny hooted, and Puck's gaze flickered to the figure. _Long legs_ were the first thing that flashed through his head, strapped in black ice picks that accentuated her shapely calves. He noticed the black lace next, demure compared to the garish red satin that the blonde had been wearing, and the breasts encased in said material. High and firm, they swayed as she arched her back to the beat of the song.

Her lips were lipsticked in a slick pout and curved into an alluring smile as she swung herself around the metal pole at the end of the stage. He craned his neck in curiosity. The back was just as good as the front, he observed idly. Her ass was shapely, not too large for his taste, well-toned and barely covered in a thong made with the same black flirty lace.

She sensually curved her body in a backwards swinging motion, legs twining around the metal. The building momentum had her whipping around the pole, drawing a roar from the crowd. Her knees parted, widened in the air as she sank to the ground, allowing the pole to support her body. It wasn't until the fourth revolution that he saw her face clearly. Underneath the cloud of tousled chestnut hair, her dark chocolate eyes were rimmed in heavy black eyeliner and deep purple eye shadow. As her shoulders brushed the floor, her eyes met his.

_Holy shit._

---

_Push me, and then just touch me_

_Till I can get my satisfaction_

He vaguely remembered that she'd taken dance lessons – _if you must know, Noah, every budding Broadway star needs to be experienced in all of the performing arts so that she can take on a wide range of roles, after all, I am going to have my first Tony by the age of twenty-four_ – but never would he have ever dreamed that it would have culminated into something this erotic.

_Push me and then just touch me_

_Till I can get my satisfaction_

She turned to face him, gripping the pole high above her head. As he watched, she did an open-air split with those sinfully long legs, and slid to the stage, her lace-wrapped crotch caressing the cool metal in a moist kiss.

He could literally feel the blood draining from his head.

_Push, push, push, push,_

_push, push, push, push,_

_push, push, push, push,_

_push, push, push, push_

As the audience shouted in appreciation, she lay with her back to the floor, snapping her pelvis to the pounding bass. Her hands cupped her covered breasts, plumping them towards the front row. Almost lazily, her eyes met his again, and her tongue came out to lick her lips.

_Push, push, push, push,_

_push, push, push, push,_

_push, push, push, push,_

_push, push, push, push_

She rolled over on hands and knees, wiggling her ass in the air, swaying her head back and forth. Dark hair flooded around her shoulders, curls sinking into the valley between her breasts. He hadn't realized how stacked she'd been in high school – all those ugly grandma sweaters had a habit of making him look the other direction – but _fuck_.

Lenny poked him in the elbow. "I told you," he shouted.

"Whatever, asshole," was all Puck said, his eyes glued to the writhing female in front of him.

_Push me and then just touch me_

_Till I can get my satisfaction_

She began crawling across the stage, her eyes locked onto his, dragging the tips of her breasts alongside the floor with each step. When she was directly in front of him, she sank back onto her ankles and palmed her breasts again, her fingers sinking into the cleavage. Lenny gaped like a fish. "Dude!" he croaked.

_Push me and then just touch me_

_Till I can get my satisfaction_

Puck stared at her with wide eyes, his cock throbbing through his jeans - _like a fucking adolescent_ - as she slid her hands down her lithe body. The skin between her thighs was shiny in the electric blue neon. _Fuck, she's wet_. As if she'd read his thoughts, she parted her knees wider to his hungry gaze, her damp curls peeking underneath the lace underwear.

_Satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction,_

_satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction, satisfaction,_

_satisfaction_

She rose to her feet with an alluring smile, swiveling her hips one last time, and disappeared through the curtains. He could only blink as the white stage lights came on and the emcee's booming voice echoed off the stage. "Let's give a hand for Cherry!"

Lenny elbowed him, grinning when Puck jolted in response. "What'd I tell ya, Puckerman? Wasn't that hot? I thought I was gonna blow my load! I never get that kind of action from the missus - "

"Yeah, you were right," Puck said tersely, abruptly pushing his chair back.

"Hey, where you goin'? There's still more girls – "

"See you later, douchebag," he flung over his shoulder.

---

She sauntered through the door – _sauntered_ would be the best word to describe her rolling walk, he thought – and stopped short when she caught sight of him. Her breath caught, because what she'd merely guessed on stage was truly real – it was _him_.

He was slouched in the only chair in the small room, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips. Legs encased in pale denim were lazily stretched in front of him. The muscles rippled under his t-shirt as he took a long swig of his beer. Appreciative green eyes slowly crawled over her body, sending chills rippling through her spine – lingering at her breasts, her pussy, the legs wrapped in what she privately called her death trap stilettos.

The door slammed shut behind her, signaling the beginning of his half-hour – _he'd actually paid an exorbitant amount of money_ _to be with her_, she thought with a brief surge of panic – and he toasted her in welcome.

"Hi, Berry."

He'd never heard her curse while they'd been in school together, but she did then, a low _fuck_ slipping out between her rouged lips. His gaze slid over her, pale skin and black lace, and his smile became roguish.

"Never thought I'd ever see you step foot in a strip club, much less _dancing_ in one," Puck drawled, patting his knee.

She rolled her eyes, briefly reverting back to the young girl he'd slushied in high school. "That makes two of us," she said tartly.

The brevity of her speech surprised him; he had been expecting a _While you must be finding great enjoyment in my downfall, I sincerely hope that there is a part of you which finds yourself taking pity on me, because this was never part of my carefully orchestrated five-year plan for conquering Julliard, and Broadway, and the whole universe_. "You wanna tell me how the hell you became a stripper?" he asked almost casually, taking a swig from his beer. "Because as far as I knew, the old Rachel Berry wouldn't even let me touch her boobs, much less dance half-naked in public."

"Things change."

He arched a brow, appraising her from head to toe. "Baby, do they _ever_."

Rachel's skin prickled hotly at his relentless gaze. On stage, she'd done her usual stage routine, doing what she'd been taught to do, except for one significant difference – she'd caught his eye, and she'd felt something warm in the depths of her body. She'd been eager to break that predatory gaze, but she'd kept glancing over at him, wondering, _knowing_ that it was him.

Aware of the ticking clock and the Big Brother camera monitoring her progress from the corner, she strode over, stopped between his legs, flinched a little when he dropped the empty beer bottle and circled her waist with his hands. "Let's just get this over with," she said curtly.

Puck flexed his fingers, marveling at the softness of her body. "What's the rush? Aren't you eager to spend time with an old friend?"

She slipped her knees over his hips, her knuckles bone-white against the arms of his chair. She bit her lip when his fingers stroked the lush curve of her behind.

Once upon a time, she'd always been the one to break the silence with inane chatter, talking until he wanted to burn himself alive with her precious sheet music. "It was really hot, the way you kept staring at me with those bedroom eyes of yours," he remarked as she slowly swiveled her hips around.

"Typical stage tricks meant to make more money," she tossed back without thinking, and watched his eyes glint dangerously.

"You knew it was me each time you looked my way."

Rachel faltered for a moment. _Gotcha_, he thought.

Her eyes narrowed when his thumb slid across her inner thigh, gathering the slickness of sweat and arousal that dripped from the apex of her legs. "Don't get too touchy, or the bouncers will kick you out," she said tersely.

He leaned back, smiling wolfishly. "Damn, and I thought I was getting a fuck for the two-fifty I shelled out," he growled.

"Go to hell." She began grinding her hips against his to the pulsing beat of the music, her eyes distantly averted. But he smirked, grasped two handfuls of hair, and pulled her closer.

"I saw how wet you were when you were on that stage," he murmured, his hot breath caressing her ear. "Was it because of me?"

Her hips hesitated briefly, before she continued to grind against him. "Don't," she said lowly.

Puck stared into her eyes, his gaze full of lust and something else. She could feel her thighs slipping against each other as she turned and shimmied against his crotch. His cock was hard, throbbing through the thick material of his jeans, and almost without thinking, she let out a moan. She could feel the length of him against her, she could imagine how he would feel inside her, she could –

"What the hell are you doing here?" he murmured, breaking her from her trance. She looked at him over her shoulder, tousled curls cascading down her back. He thrust one hand into her hair again, splaying the other hand over her stomach, pressing her against him.

"Don't," she whispered again, and he didn't know what she was referring to.

He suddenly had the urge to throttle her senseless. Puck was pissed for a variety of reasons – leading contenders being the week's rent he'd forked over so this girl from the past could hump him stupid and send him home to finish the job with Palmela Anderson and her five friends, and the apocalyptic reality of _Rachel fucking Berry_ as a stripper – but that didn't even come close to the jarring fact that he _really_ wanted to fuck her brains out.

He turned her around until she was facing him. "Take your top off," he said roughly. "I'm allowed, aren't I? Take it off."

Her eyes darkened, and he almost expected a refusal, until she hitched her legs around his hips again and began to swish her crotch against his erection. She closed her eyes, swirling her hair back and forth until the scent of costly perfume wafted around them. His gaze dropped to her breasts, straining against the black lace bra. She slipped her hands against herself, rubbing in circles until her nipples jutted proudly against the lace.

He groaned, licking his lips in anticipation.

Her fingers slid to her cleavage, fumbling with the front clasp. His hands clenched on her thighs, wanting to lean forward, take the clasp between his teeth, bury his face between her tits. She unsnapped it and slowly peeled the material back.

Even in the garish red light, her breasts were beautiful – high, firm, absolutely real. His eyes never left them as she shook out of her bra. _Holy fuck_, was his thought as she gripped the back of his chair and arched above him, swaying luxuriously to the beat of the music. Her rosy nipples were puckered, ready for his mouth. He pressed her forward, moving her closer to him, but she sank against him and smoothed her chest over his. His mouth watered with the thought of sucking on her breasts, making her even more wet between her –

"Enjoying what you paid for?" she said, the caustic tone in her voice ripping through the haze in his mind. It slammed through him like a sledgehammer, the sudden rage at the idea that she was flashing horny assholes like this every night.

"I better get my money's worth," he snapped, and his hips thrust upwards just as he gripped her waist and pushed her body towards him.

Her head snapped back at the delicious friction, and for a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the taut muscles underneath her hands, his thick arousal rocking against her. She'd never been this turned on, _ever_, even during her other dances. But even though she wanted him, the way he'd stared at her during her stage routine had been _much_ more than just superficial interest. And the alternative route of plundering her secrets, humiliating her in ways that the slushies hadn't done back in high school, was _not_ open for discussion.

"That's all you got?" she taunted. "You're losing your touch. I expected better from you, Puck."

He leaned forward, anger swirling in his chest at her words, the cynical pop around his nickname. He roughly pulled her against him. "_Bitch_," he hissed.

She realized too late that she had miscalculated – utterly, dangerously, _completely_ miscalculated - as he yanked her hair back and covered her mouth with his.

He tasted like bar peanuts, beer, a hint of nicotine. She whimpered as he ravaged her mouth, his tongue sweeping across hers in a hot rush. She gripped his shirt in her fists, feeling the rippling muscles underneath her palms. He untangled himself from her hair, cupped a breast in his hand and tested the weight while a thumb flicked across her nipple. A moan slipped from her lips, and he repeated the motion again and again, tasting her broken cries from her mouth. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and bucked against her, sliding his hand underneath the waistband of her panties, fumbling with his zipper -

The door slammed open, and a heavyset bouncer slammed his meaty fist against the door. "You're done with this one, Cherry. No touching, you know the rules," he announced, unceremoniously hauling Rachel off him. "Get out."

"What the _fuck_! I didn't even – "

But she was already disappearing through the doorway, clutching her bra to her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to all you wonderful readers! I hope you continue to enjoy the fun as much as I am :D

I forgot to mention this in the first chapter, but… *cough* Don't own Glee, its characters, or its fantastic music.

---

He was fucking insane, he concluded as he waited in the shadows. It wasn't any of his business why she was stripping at one of the seediest bars in New York City. None.

_Things change._

He should just turn around and go home, try to forget the way she'd felt in his arms, the way she'd swept her tongue against his and tasted like peppermint and her stage name and mind-blowing sex.

_I expected better from you._

Even if it meant he'd never know why she was there, even if he fucking _needed_ to know why she was there.

_Don't._

She finally appeared at the main entrance, buttoning up her coat against the spring chill, and he let out a heavy sigh of relief when she sauntered in the direction of the nearest subway stop, twelve city blocks away.

He maintained a steady distance, studying her each time she fell under the illumination of the street lights. Squeaky clean skin, denim skirt – she was still the same, in that regard – and an unhappy tilt to her mouth.

Puck wondered, not for the first time that night, what had happened to drive her from the ambitions of dreamy Broadway headliner to hardened stripper.

He was about to call out to her when she veered into a pitch black alley. _Why the hell is she taking a detour through prime hobo territory? _ He turned the corner and cautiously headed into the darkness, wrinkling his nose at the pungent scent of trash and decay – then he bellowed, barely missing the stinging spray of mace as a diminutive figure leapt out at him from the shadows of a dumpster.

"The _fuck_, Berry!" he roared, shoving her arm out of the way. He heard the metallic clatter as the can was knocked out of her hand. Her knee slammed against his gut, and he let out a strong _oof_. Anticipating her next move, he side-stepped her as she tried to knee him again. Off-balance, she teetered slightly, and he pinned her against the brick wall, easily holding her wrists high above her head.

"You lured me in here so you could _pepper spray_ me to death?" he yelled incredulously.

She struggled once, twice, three times. "Get _off_," she hissed, her legs scrambling against the cement. He avoided the sharp kick she aimed at his groin and pressed his thigh between hers, splaying her open to his mercy. Her skirt, already tantalizingly short, hitched upwards.

Coming down from the surge of adrenaline, Puck looked down at the two of them, feeling the heaving of her chest against his. His penis, already half-awake, began to strain uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans.

She sputtered, rather belatedly, "Why the _hell_ are you following me?"

He stroked his free hand over her knee and along the soft skin on her thigh, listening to the way her breath became unsteady at his touch. His fingers walked along the hem of her skirt, slipped underneath.

"Do you like it when people watch you strip for them?" he finally asked.

Her wrists tensed against his iron-fast grip. "Shut up."

His hand slid higher until he was rubbing his roughened knuckles against her damp inner thighs, and she quivered against him, biting her lip against the wild rush of arousal.

"You're not on Broadway, baby," and his teeth nipped at her earlobe, "but in that shithole, you're wearing nothing but lace, touching yourself in front of horny men, and it's the only way you can be the star again - "

"I said, _shut up_."

"You're kinky, Berry," he whispered as he mouthed the curve of her shoulder, "you like people to watch you grind your pussy into that metal pole."

Her feet scrambled for purchase against the brick, found none.

He touched her thigh again, feeling her essence against his fingertips. "You liked the way I looked at you."

No response, but Puck felt the sudden rush of moisture against his hand. He chuckled, sliding his knee between hers. "I saw the way your thighs were wet when you crawled towards me," he said throatily.

"You're so full of shit – "

"No, _you_," mimicking the slang of their teenage years, "you're gonna lie when I can feel how wet you are _still_?"

"You're an asshole," she said breathlessly.

Puck briefly cupped her, hissing at the intense heat against his palm, watched as her eyes rolled back in pleasure. "Fuck, you really get off on the whole watching thing, don't you?" A brief pause, as he considered the woman in front of him. Her face was flushed with desire, and he pressed his mouth to her ear, licking the shell until he felt her tremble.

"I've never had that happen until tonight," Rachel finally admitted, almost inaudibly.

_Jesus._

"You would've let me take you on that stage," he said huskily, flipping open the buttons of her coat one by one, "let me dive between your legs and suck your clit off."

Her breath hitched at his words, and he growled low in his throat as his hand slipped underneath her t-shirt and cupped her breast.

"I would've made you come into my mouth, licked you up and started all over again," he breathed into her ear, taking her nipple between his fingertips and squeezing lightly. At her soft cry, he pinched it harder, rolling it between his fingers as she bucked against him.

"You were such a tease," he purred, squeezing her breast, "pushing your tits against my chest and grinding your wet snatch into my dick. You wanted me to fuck you."

Rachel gasped as she felt his hand slip underneath the hem of her jean skirt, threading through the curls gracing her core. "I wasn't teasing," she tried, knowing full well she was lying, because the alternative was just _dangerous_.

"You were trying to get me to come in my pants," Puck growled savagely, his fingers skipping over her nether lips. "I could smell you, smell how hot you were at the thought of me coming all over your perfect ass, and all I wanted to do was rip that excuse of a thong you were wearing and fuck you till you screamed the place down."

She arched her back as he dipped a finger into her wetness. She was drenched, her walls clenching around him like a vise, and his cock twitched at the thought of burying himself deep inside her. He added another finger, moisture pooling into his palm as he slowly circled her clit with his thumb, feeling her ragged breath against his skin.

"You'd let me, wouldn't you?" he queried, adding a third finger. She arched her back at the sensation – _yes_, on the curve of her mouth – and he twisted his wrist, arching his fingers deep inside her. She cried out, her toes skittering against the pavement. "Did you leave your panties behind in the hope that I'd find you and fuck you blind?"

"Too wet – couldn't wear them – _Puck_," she said brokenly.

He stroked her clit, feeling her tighten around him. "Tell me to stop," he said, low. She opened her mouth, moaned, and he squeezed his eyes shut as she rode his fingers. "Berry, tell me to stop or I'm going to take you right here."

Rachel closed her eyes and laid her cheek against the dirty brick. "I _can't_," came from her in a reluctant sigh, and he let out a breath between gritted teeth. The other hand that was bracing her wrists against the wall finally relaxed, and she skimmed her fingertips against the bulging front of his jeans.

_Fuck_, he thought as she palmed his cock, squeezed hard enough to make his eyes cross.

She snapped open the top button of his jeans and slid the zipper down. His penis sprang forth into her waiting hands, and he groaned when she slipped her hand from base to tip.

"You're driving me crazy," Puck growled, sucking against the base of her throat, leaving a mark against her pale skin. She wasn't going to forget him tonight, _any_ night. "Put your legs around me," he ordered, hefting her against the wall, testing the weight of her against him.

She gasped when he parted her legs wider and replaced his fingers with his cock. "I'm going to give you what you've been asking for," he rasped, sliding against her heat. She was so wet that he glided easily across her clit. Rachel tried to shift him deeper inside her, but he kept a firm grip on her thighs, his fingers bruising into her flesh.

"Tell me," and he inched forward until he was barely splitting her open. He could feel the intense heat emanating from her core. She was soaked, her inner muscles clenching tightly around the blunt head of his cock. He waited, feeling her strain against him.

"Please," softly came from her, and he shook his head.

"That's not what I mean," he chided, minutely slipping away from her, groaning as she fluttered around him.

"_Puck_," she pleaded, her face suffusing with embarrassment at the need in her voice.

He smirked, flexed his hips lightly, traced her ear with his tongue. "Say it," was his response.

Her hands clenched around his biceps, halting his retreat. Rachel bit her lip, looking strangely vulnerable and shy, and then she tossed her head back, gazing directly at him. "I've been so bad tonight," she murmured hungrily. "I've been so bad, and you're going to give it to me, you're going to fuck me _blind_ - "

Puck moaned, long and low, and slammed into her. Dimly registering the sensation of her clawing at his back, he plundered her, feeling her quiver tightly around him. She rolled her hips back and forth, mimicking the dance from earlier, and he could hear the blood roaring in his ears.

His hips snapped against hers over and over again. He was penetrating her so deeply that he was scraping against her g-spot with each push. He slowed the pace, hearing her agonized whimper, and he spread her thighs wide open. Bracing his legs for leverage, he thrust his cock to the hilt.

She let out a small scream, and he covered her mouth with his. "Don't want to wake the neighbours," he purred against her mouth, "or I'd have to stop, and you wouldn't want me to stop, would you?"

"No, no, no, _no_," she moaned in counterpoint to his savage thrusts.

He pounded relentlessly into her, whispering into her ear – _do you like how deep I'm inside you, your pussy feels so tight around my cock, I wanna make you come around me so bad, baby you're so wet for me_ – until she buried her tongue in his mouth.

He felt her seize around him, heard his name slip brokenly from her lips, and lost control. She cupped his head in her hands – _oh jesus baby I'm gonna come_ - clutching him as he exploded inside her.

Eventually, Puck came back to himself. They were breathing heavily, her arms were still wrapped around his shoulders, and he was softening, slipping from her damp core. He touched her briefly on her thigh, rubbing the droplets of him and her into her skin. She made a _mmm_ sound with her throat.

He leaned forward, brushing his nose against hers, licking at the seam of her lips. Tenderly, he sipped at her mouth, drawing a satisfied hum and the tightening of her arms around him.

He was screwed, he realized, as he traced her smile with his tongue, felt it widen as he stroked her sweaty hip with his fingers. Unbelievably _screwed_, because he wanted to take her home to his shitty apartment and have her all over again. Make her moan in his cheap Target sheets until she came all over his face, screw her into oblivion, tie her to the bed because she was going back to that shithole _over his fucking dead body_ –

In the distance, they heard the pitched whine of a FDNY fire truck, and as if that sound propelled her into reality, she pulled away and began putting her clothes to rights. She looked like she'd been ravaged, he realized as he noted the damage: swollen lips, mussed hair, visible bruises on her thighs where he'd spread her open for his cock. She touched the gigantic hickey at the base of her neck – _take that to your next lap dance_, he thought savagely – before she buttoned her coat, protecting the evidence against prying eyes.

He caught her hand when she was about to flee, twining their fingers. She pulled, almost furiously, looking abashed when he merely tightened his grip.

"Berry, wait," he said, low.

"Don't come back," she said crisply, and he briefly caught sight of the haughty look she would wear in glee before she began a speech about the merits of her next solo, before her eyes shuttered. "It was a good time, but that was it, and we're done now."

"Dammit, _Rachel _- " he burst out, stinging at her dismissal.

Her heart seized in a quick, painful flutter. "Don't," she breathed desperately, and yanked her hand away, breaking the last touch of contact between them. "Just – _don't_."

He stormed after her retreating figure, blinking owlishly at the light emanating from the streetlamp. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle at a passing cab, ignoring the seething man beside her.

"This isn't over," he flung at her, swearing when she almost slammed the door on his foot. She turned to gaze at him through the open window, watching as he became a speck in the distance.

"Goodbye, Noah," she said quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I couldn't let it end, could I? Much to the detriment of my sanity, I've spent the last few weeks revising this third part into the ground, but it's _finally_ here. Enjoy :)

---

As a young girl, Rachel had once stood in front of her living room window and held a kaleidoscope to her eyes, twisting it over and over in her hands. The dazzling colours had reminded her of the possibility of the Broadway stage. Someday, she vowed, she would gaze into the bright spotlights and hold out her hands to the standing ovation.

Standing in front of the mirror that evening, her fingers silently tallied the marks on her body, curling over the eggplant hickey on her clavicle, the bruises circling her upper arms. She turned, looking over her shoulder at the lower half of her body, where the sunset dappled her skin – there, colours exploded over her thighs, marking the ways that he'd gripped her as he'd taken her against the alley wall.

He hadn't wanted her to forget, she mused, stroking a finger down her bruised thigh. She prayed that he wouldn't be at the club tonight, watching her with those intense green eyes as she danced. Refused to think about what would happen if he _did_.

She swore to herself as she stepped into the shower, turned the nozzles back, allowed the hot water to soothe her body. She lathered her head with lavender-scented drugstore shampoo, flinching as her fingers hit the sore points along her scalp. Even after three days, she was still recovering from the way Puck had slid a hand through her hair and –

Rachel thumped her forehead against the shower in frustration. _Don't go down that road._

She'd spent the first year utterly terrified of finding a familiar gaze in the sea of faces, having severed all contact with both her friends and family. As more time passed, she'd slowly rebuilt the dignity and control that had been previously forfeited. Rachel had eventually reached the point where she could carefully traverse her days with distasteful familiarity, steadfastly ignoring the painful thoughts regarding the end of her tenure. In this life, there were no knights in shining armour - merely neon lights, heavy makeup, and the barely-there uniform of industrial lingerie.

Then she had stepped through the stage curtain and found Puck at the end of the stage, watching her.

_Do you like it when people watch you?_

She smoothed soapy hands over her body, lingering over her breasts. He'd done the same when she'd danced for him in that dingy room, wantonly rubbing against him until he'd been rock hard underneath her weeping sex. Her words hadn't dissuaded him - instead, he'd waited, _followed_ her into that alley, pressed her against the brick and interrogated her with his words and his fingers and his cock. Split her open, sank into her, she'd clawed his back, unable to resist the need in his green eyes, more, more, _more_.

There was no room for someone like Puck in her life. His very presence was humiliating to her, a past that reminded her how far she had fallen from her ambitions. Yet she yearned for his touch to set her skin on fire, make her damp with a single glance, snatch her breath with one last kiss -

Almost unconsciously, she splayed her hand across her stomach as _he'd_ done, slipped her fingers between her legs, stroking at the quivering flesh. Her thumb hesitantly circled her clit, already proudly peeking from its nest. The moisture between her legs added to the water droplets cascading down her bruised thighs.

She pressed her forehead to the steaming tile and curled two fingers inside her, mimicking the way he'd arched his hand against her pussy. She moaned, opening her legs wider as she gripped her thigh with her free hand. Her wrist twisted, her hips snapped against the delicious friction deep inside her. He'd spread her open for his assault, she could still feel the rough denim of his jeans scraping against her skin as he'd pounded into her –

She imagined those bright eyes watching her do _this_, and her hand quickened. With a loud cry, she came in a violent shudder, collapsing against the shower wall.

_Memories are all you can ever have_, she thought, dimly registering the icy spray on her body.

---

Lenny signaled the waitress, talking a mile a minute – man, the jackass wouldn't _shut up_ about the chicks in here – and Puck hooked a hand around his beer, sucking the last remaining drops from the bottom.

They'd sat at the same corner of the stage for the past five dancers – five long routines from girls of questionable sizes, colours, and consciousness – and Lenny had screamed like a little girl through all of them. Puck had only kept his bleary eyes open in the hopes that a petite brunette would appear on stage, and the tightening in his chest had long verbalized into a stream of expletives.

It was a fucking stupid idea to come, he thought as he peered at the bottom of his beer bottle, because he'd have to watch her dance half-naked on stage along with everyone else in the room. All he could do was suck it up, shell out more rent money for a private lap dance, and watch her throw a diva fit at the sight of him in that ugly room.

_You've completely misplaced your cognitive functions, Noah,_ the old her would have said to him before flouncing out of the room.

"When do you wanna leave?" Lenny asked eventually, when the bored blonde came on stage and half-heartedly twitched her hips at them.

Puck shrugged, shifting deeper into his seat. "Whenever," was his slurred response. The large clock mounted beside the stage read close to two in the morning, and Lenny tipped his beer towards it.

"My old lady's gonna flip if I show up to her niece's morning christening lookin' like I licked the bottom of a dumpster," his friend commented, leering at the redheaded waitress eyeing him from the end of the bar.

"They're closing up anyway, prickface," Puck retorted, as the bartender hollered out last call.

Through the reverberating music, Puck could hear his friend's sudden high-pitched squeak as the waitress slipped into his lap – _why hello there, pretty thing_ – and wanted to throw his beer at the wall. Three days of unsuccessfully shadowing her at her shithole strip club, ending each night with him trying to stroke the feel of her out of his cock, and he was wishing that he'd kept the number to the underground fight club in the Bronx.

But whether she'd hid behind the curtain all those nights, or she just hadn't been there, it didn't matter. Fuck however long it took for her to come out of hiding, he was going to stalk her in her crappy-ass neck of the woods until he knew _why_ she'd looked so damned frightened in the cab.

"Hey," the redhead said, leaning over and touching his arm. "Your buddy here says you're lookin' for Cherry. Waste of time, at least till Friday – boss sent her home, gave her a couple nights off."

Jesus, he _hated_ her stage name. "Didn't think strippers got nights off," he growled.

"They do," she commented, "if you come in lookin' like you got run over between your legs."

Puck's eyes narrowed.

"Girl showed up tonight with a hickey the size of Texas and bruises all over her body," Red said, rolling the words with a sardonic drawl. "Boss just about went apeshit on her sorry ass, looked like he was gonna add a few more to the bunch."

"The _hell_."

Her shoulder went up in a rather graceful shrug. "You don't fuck with management," she remarked. "If you ask me, I wouldn't let any man ride me for any amount of money on the side, but I guess she was pretty desperate for some extra cash – "

He kicked the chair back.

"Puckerman, wait a second. _Hey_!" Lenny hollered, tipping the redhead to the floor in surprise.

---

_One day, you'll come to New York – that is, if you aren't living there already, because I know you have ambitions for yourself and naturally NYU is one of the best colleges in the area – and you'll find me on the Broadway stage, where I belong. Don't forget to bring me red roses, because every actress should receive red roses from her admirers. Alright, Noah?_

_Whatever, Berry._

He fumbled with his house keys, turning the numerous locks back – _click, snick, kfft_ – finally managed to open the door to his loft studio, and stepped inside. The lamp he had purchased from the as-is department at IKEA suddenly switched on, sending a flickering light through the room. He started, blinking owlishly at the petite figure sitting in his dilapidated armchair.

"Hi."

He tossed his keys on the side table, leaned a hip against the scratched wood. "Hi, Berry."

She'd broken into his only good bottle of booze, but she wasn't _working_.

Her long legs swayed back and forth, toes brushing against the nubby tweed in skittering fidgets. She was free of makeup this time, her hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves – _tired_, as he noted her pale skin, the weary crease on her face. She sipped at her drink, placed the empty glass on the side table next to her, licked her suddenly dry lips.

His tongue wet his own, reminiscing. "How did you find me?"

"Facebook and Google Maps." And she'd known, as she'd snuck into his low-security building and hunted for his spare keys, that it was a terrible idea to come to his apartment. She'd explored the comfortably used furnishings, the exposed concrete walls decorated with rock posters and family pictures, the scuffed wooden dresser filled with his soft cotton shirts and faded jeans. Two pairs of well-worn work boots, dark blue jumpsuits, and a couple of carelessly tossed hard hats were in his closet. Sheet music was gathering dust under the night table, a guitar carefully resting in its case in the corner.

She'd smoothed over his comforter, tested the mattress with a hand, before she'd abruptly turned to the liquor cabinet and unsteadily poured herself a drink. Liquid courage after she'd briefly tasted his brand of normalcy, before she convinced them both that he had to stay away.

"I saw you going into the club as I was leaving," she said.

He was suddenly dizzy with rage. His conscience was screaming at him – _you're not your deadbeat asshole papa_ – but he was tempted to throw her on the rumpled bed and beat her fucking _black and blue_. "Jesus, Berry, I spent the last three days in that shithole waiting for you to come out and get your dance on, and some chick finally tells me that you got sent home – "

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place," Rachel protested. "If I'd known that you would've been so - "

"So _what_?"

She flushed, turned her face away. Between flickers of the lamp, he could see the impressive watercolour painting on her legs. "I could have been fired," she finally answered.

"I didn't hear you complaining back in the alley," he retorted.

"I wasn't thinking about my job at the time," she said quietly.

_How many other times were there?_ His stomach clenched hot. "So what, you're out of commission for a few nights," he said tauntingly. "This shouldn't be the first time for you."

She blinked in shock. "What are you talking about?" she asked incredulously.

"Your other _clients_," Puck emphasized. He strode over, kneeled in front of the chair and leaned forward until he was inches from her face. Her breath smelled like alcohol and apples. "They never played rough with you when you were sucking them off in the back room?"

Her eyes practically fell out of her head. "Have you lost your fucking _mind_?"

He hated this, hated himself for degrading her, but he needed to _know_. "C'mon, Berry," he coaxed, tracing a line of bruises with his palm, "no shame in putting out for a little extra cash. Those pimply-eyed fucks that you dance for, how do you do it? Do you let them bend you over a table so you don't have to look at them when you - "

She slapped him with sudden ferocity. In the deafening silence, he could practically hear the blood rushing to the handprint on his cheek, a searing reminder of the bastard he'd always been towards her.

"I've _never_ – how _dare_ you – " she sputtered breathlessly.

When he whipped his head around, ran his eyes over her face for more hidden mysteries, he read the naked humiliation in her face.

"You're the only one I've _ever_ been with, you obtuse buckwheat _groat_," Rachel exploded, words stumbling out of her in a flood.

He caught her around the waist before she could stomp out of his apartment. Desperately, he pinned her against his kitchen counter, accepted the successive slap that landed on his chest.

"Dammit, I know I'm a shithead," he rasped. "I just – _dammit_." He skimmed his hands lightly over her hair, her cheek, trailing down her sides. She watched him with hauntingly dark eyes, her breath hitching when he stroked the palm of her hand with calloused fingertips.

"It kills me to think about those assholes touching you," he burst out, looking so damn vulnerable and _pissed_ at his admission.

She took a deep breath, exhaled against the hurricane of tears in her chest. "This is my life," she murmured.

"This isn't _you_," he returned, his fingers smoothing over her delicate wrist, the soft skin along her arm, her curved elbow. "I don't want to hurt you, I just need to know _why_, I just – " And he couldn't finish, because he wasn't sure either.

But what he could give her was _this_ – and he kissed her, licking the taste of whiskey from her lips until he felt her arms curl around his neck. She opened her mouth to him, drawing a hum of appreciation, and she longingly stroked his tongue with hers. He moaned, drawing her in his arms until her breasts pressed against his chest. Her small hand snaked under his shirt, sliding against the smooth skin on his back, dipping underneath the waistband of his jeans. His fingers lingered up her leg, meeting damp skin, and she broke away with a whimper.

"Stay." He brushed his thumb against her cheek, repeated the request as he traced the curve of her neck with his tongue, tasted the soft skin behind her ear.

Her heart skittered at the predatory, tender look in his eyes. "I can't," she breathed.

"Yeah, you _can_," and suddenly, he was stalking her towards one of the floor-length windows. He anticipated her easily as she tried to dart around him, cornered her against the cool glass and slanted his mouth against hers, once, twice, over and over until she murmured something – _no_.

Puck fisted a hand in her prim blouse, roughly yanked, heard the buttons pop and bounce all over the floor as he palmed her breast, plucked at her nipple through the demure lace bra.

She made a low keening sound in her throat as he released her breasts from their lace confinement – _don't_ – and he merely dropped his head and curled his tongue around a nipple. His hand slipped underneath her skirt. "Jesus, your panties are soaked," burst out of him.

She squeezed her damp thighs together in a feeble protest, and he withdrew, circled her clit through the underwear. Her breath caught, and she let out a low, acquiescent cry. He fumbled at the fastenings of her skirt, let it drop to the floor, kicked it away.

"I need to take you," he growled, hauling her against him. "Right here, right now. _Fuck_."

The lamp finally failed, sending them into moonlight. Puck turned her to face the window, slipping his hand underneath the lace. He laughed hoarsely into her ear, watching her curl against him in the reflection of the window. Skimming a finger into her sex, he began a slow stroking rhythm, grinding his cock into her denim-covered ass when she mewed and pressed against him.

"You're so fucking sexy," he groaned, splaying a free hand against her stomach.

Rachel shyly buried her face in his neck, and he slipped another finger inside her. "Look," he insisted, and he tipped her chin forward until she was gazing at their reflections in the window. He ran his thumb lightly over her clit, enjoying the way her eyes rolled back and refocused on the glass.

"Do you like it when you watch me touch you, baby?"

At his words, a shiver went through her, and she clamped on his fingers. Her eyes were heavy-lidded as she watched him stroke her under her panties. He licked the curve of her shoulder, smirking when he felt her shake again from head to toe.

"Maybe someone's watching you too," and he glided his fingers in and out of her, feeling her answering shudder. "Someone's watching me stroke your clit, push my fingers deep inside your pussy."

She bucked her hips against his fingers, driving him deeper inside her.

"They wanna be here, they wanna put their fingers deep inside you, taste you, take you till you come, but I'm the only one who's gonna touch you like this – "

The images he'd formed in her head were erotic, intoxicating. Her hand slipped into her underwear and twined with his, joining him stroke for stroke. He felt her fingertips rubbing against herself and let out an expletive when she clenched around him. He needed to be inside her right fucking _yesterday_.

Ripping her panties down her long legs, he turned her again, gently pressing her back to the window when she reached for him. With a fierce growl, he nibbled at her breasts, licked his way down her trembling stomach, left his mark against the shadowy indents in her pelvis.

Her head knocked violently against the glass as he burrowed between her thighs and lifted a leg over his shoulder. He sucked hard on her nub, enjoying the moans he pulled from her. Spearing her deep with his tongue, he licked her juices until she was writhing against his face. He didn't care if the whole world saw him, she tasted like sweet cherry and sex and _Rachel_ and holy fuck she was -

"_Please_," and her voice hitched with desperation, "please, _please_ – "

He nipped delicately at her clit, twisting his fingers deep inside her pussy, and she let out a broken sob as she came, collapsing against him with an undignified _umf_.

It was easy for him to lift her into his lap, shift her long legs until she was straddling his hips, slowly slip into her as she gasped from the intensity of her orgasm. "_Noah_," she moaned, quivering violently around him.

"Need to feel you come around me," he murmured, rocking against her, "need you, _baby_ – "

Her hips rolled, bringing him deeper inside her. He moaned into her breasts, running a thumb across the nipple, down her stomach. The heat between her legs tightened when she felt his fingers stroking between them, and she cried out passionately as she convulsed around him.

He rolled her underneath him – _hold me _– feeling her muscles seize against him as he slammed into her. She was screaming a bunch of discordant notes, clenching around him like she was gonna break his cock off inside her and keep it forever, he was fucking her so hard she was skidding across the hardwood floor, he could hear his shitty-ass neighbours pounding on the shared wall – _shaddup you noisy fucks it's 3 in da fuckin' morning!_ – but all he could feel was _her_, she was so wet and tight and _his_ and he was gonna explode inside her any fucking second holy shit Rachel Rachel _holyshitRachel_ –

As he dazedly registered the feel of her toes curling against his, she leaned into him, pressed a damp cheek to his chest.

"You can't keep me here forever," she murmured.

He kissed her until she was limp and pliant beneath him. "That's what she said."

---

When he woke up, he met the rustling crackle of a slip of paper on his pillow. Written in feminine cursive on the corner of last week's pay stub was a pair of words, the graphite smudged with a hasty finger –

_Three days._

---

(Reviews are love. :3)


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